Anything Worth Doing is Worth Doing Badly
by ZipCode
Summary: Homura wakes up in a world where the only witch is the one in her head.
1. Chapter 1

**Anything worth doing is worth doing badly**

**By: ZipCode**

* * *

**"**_But it's not fair, Homura-chan, you're always protecting me – always, always protecting __**us**__. I'll-"_

"_Madoka… Please… You have to break the cycle. This is the only way."_

* * *

Homura wakes up in a world where the only witch is the one in her head.

It isn't getting out.

* * *

She is normal.

It's a mantra that she repeats to herself.

She is normal.

She is normal and she is in eighth grade. Today she will start as a transfer student. She will need glasses because she a mild case of myopia and she is a transfer student because she hasn't been out of a hospital bed for half a year.

Heart condition.

Her recovery… well, some might call it miraculous.

She wears her hair in braided twin tails and has never held a gun. She is smart but not brilliant, shy but not prickly. Her best subject is history and she's terrible at math.

She is a bit of a crybaby and quite a bit of a coward.

She has never fought witches, never seen the end of the world, never seen her best friend die a thousand hundred times, never killed an alien but she has doomed the universe to a slow, lingering death.

Her name is Homura Akemi and this is the first day of the rest of her life.

And she is normal.

* * *

"Now introduce yourself, please!"

This is the four hundred and eighty-eighth time that sensei has had her introduce herself to the class. This is the second time she has played with the strap of her bag between nervous, idle fingers. It's easier than she thought it would be, going back to being weak. Stuttery.

"H-h-hi. My name is Homura. Akemi Homura. Umm. It's – it's nice to meet you."

She bows.

The class looks on in earnest interest. Homura smiles. It might come off a little strained.

Everything is normal.

* * *

The girls surround her, almost like they move in packs. Too much glitter, too much dye. The noise they make make her wince. Homura doesn't remember how she reacted in the first timeline. Fear? Anger? Anxiety?

Probably by staying silent and waiting for someone to rescue her.

Right, Madoka came for her, didn't she?

Something about…

She doesn't remember.

But Madoka definitely came for her. That she remembers. Madoka came, introduced herself as the health officer and they walked down the corridor and exchanged names. She remembers that. She initiated a different version of those events several hundred times after all. It would be hard to forget.

So she waits.

And waits. The girls continue to chatter and Homura gives out half-answers, eyes lingering on Madoka's chair. It takes her ten minutes to realize that Madoka isn't coming for her and that she has to focus on something about designer clothes and the latest movie starring some guy that doesn't matter.

The pink-haired girl continues to speak avidly to Sayaka.

The entire time, Homura has but one thought:

_Why?_

* * *

Homura's fingers itch.

She spent too much time solving problems through the expedient of shooting them until they coughed up an answer.

Her left hand grabs her right before it can reach into a shield she no longer carries.

* * *

She follows them.

Some might call it stalking.

She did it for four hundred and seventy-three lifetimes and Homura doesn't care what some might call it. She knows though, even without having to wait until they've gone back home. There's nothing different. Madoka still smiles the same way. Laughs the same way.

She just… she's just not paying any attention to her.

To Homura.

Was that the price? The price of the wish that made everything… normal again? That she and Madoka be separated forever? She doesn't remember – doesn't quite remember but it's possible that the wording did make it happen-

Homura swallows.

Fine. That's…

Yes. She can accept that.

So long as Madoka can be happy, so can she.

* * *

She's dreaming.

A witch visits. She sounds a lot like a certain redhead, down to the arrogant swagger and lack of respect for other people's personal space.

Appearance-wise she could be her twin.

"Hello, Homura."

"He-hello-" She says hesitantly.

The other her approaches, shaking her head mournfully. "Now, now, don't give me that pretend stutter. You are amazing. You really are. Why are you stuck playing the village idiot again?"

"I'm- I'm just- as long as she's happy-"

The witch hunkers down in front of her and puts cold hands on her face. "But then you won't be happy, will you? Everything you did, everything you sacrificed and now…"

Fingers caress her jawbone and trail off to her neck.

Homura shakes herself free.

"I **am** happy. I really am!"

She's shouting, shouting without meaning to.

But it's only a dream.

The witch smiles slyly as if she's already won. "Prove it."

* * *

"K-Kaname-san."

Madoka looks up. "Akemi-san!" Blinding smile. "Do you need something?"

"I-I-I-"

For a terrifying moment, Homura has no idea what to say.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sayaka laughs. Homura gives her a furious glare and the teal-haired girl puts her hands up in mock surrender. "Woah, geez. I'm just joking."

"It wasn't a very nice joke," Madoka says crossly. "Akemi-san has been in the hospital for a long time, you have to be nice, Sayaka-chan," she lectures.

Homura feels her heart lighten.

"I just – I just wanted to know if you were free-" Homura stutters.

Everything is all right.

She is normal and she is asking Madoka out (kind of) and everything is-

Normal.

* * *

"You don't have to act so nervous," Madoka says cheerfully, slurping on her slushie. "Call me Madoka."

This Homura remembers.

"I – but that's- I couldn't - such familiarity-" she says, already knowing what Madoka's answer will be.

"It's fine! How about I call you Homura?" Madoka asks.

"Umm… people don't usually call me by my first name…"

In the first timeline it was because she spent most of her time in a hospital. In the ones after that it was because she just got colder and more unapproachable and no one dared.

No one except for Madoka who always had the same comment.

"Aw! But it's such a cool name!" Madoka complains.

"I'm – I'm not -" and then Homura realizes with another jolt of terror that she doesn't remember how this part goes. "I'm not worthy of-"

Madoka turns. "That's not true! You have a cool name – so you should act cool to match it!"

Cool, huh?

Homura's wanted to do the same thing nearly five hundred times.

So this time she leans forward and-

* * *

The witch is back.

"You went a little fast there, sugar."

Homura's eyes are red, even in the dream. Perhaps only in the dream. She turns her face away.

"Oho? Don't treat me like that. We're best of friends, you and I." The witch sidles closer, almost sitting in Homura's lap.

Homura keeps her mouth closed.

"Come on, this isn't unsalvageable. Just do it. Rewind time. Why not? What have you got to lose?"

Nothing.

Everything.

* * *

Sayaka is waiting for her when she walks out the door of her apartment.

Homura narrows her eyes. Four hundred plus timelines and Sayaka has never done this before. Did the thought of curing her friend's hand really consume that much of her life?

"You made Madoka cry," the teal haired girl says, idly twirling a pencil through her fingers.

Homura rubs her eyes tiredly. She really isn't in the mood for this.

"Sayaka-san."

"Why did Madoka call me last night?" Sayaka asks. "Why was she crying?"

"I…" of all the people she's met, Mami annoyed her the most because the blonde always forced Madoka to become a Puella Magi but Sayaka… Sayaka was always so righteous even when she understood nothing.

"I love her." Homura admits.

Sayaka's face contorts and Homura can't bear to see the naked expression of _pity_ there.

"You've only known her for a week."

A week and what – a hundred years? Something like that.

"I-"

"Well, if you _really_ love her, please… back off. She doesn't need to be lumped in the same category as fr - people like you."

Freaks.

_Sayaka_ was about to say freaks.

What a riot.

Sayaka leaves and Homura falls slowly to her knees and doesn't cry.

Maybe she isn't normal, even when she is.

* * *

She hears the whispers. Rumours.

People call her freak behind her back. Girls don't want to go in the same dressing as her. Taunts and jeers and whispers. Sayaka probably didn't leak it. If nothing else she's… just not the type.

Still, that leaves one person.

No. Madoka wouldn't. She _wouldn't_.

Not her. Not her Madoka.

* * *

Someone does slip her a love letter though.

That's a positive sign, right?

Ha.

She could cave all their faces in. It wouldn't be hard.

And it's so, so _very_ tempting.

* * *

Sensei asks if anything is wrong.

Everything is _right_ and that's what's wrong – but how do you explain that? Without going to the nuthouse, anyway?

So she smiles instead and mentions a headache.

Two days later she runs.

The police will be confused. She's so used to setting up her identity that she's already gotten her own apartment and managed to fool whatever agency is supposed to be looking after orphans like her. It'll look weird. It's too slick for someone of her means.

She doesn't really care though. It's not really home.

There's nothing left to define it _as_ home. For so long her life has always been about protecting Madoka… but there's nothing left to threaten her.

Nothing but a girl named Akemi Homura who has an itchy trigger finger and a witch in her head.

* * *

On the train, evil twin visits again.

"You're running," the witch notes idly, examining her nails with a practiced eye. She's wearing the diamond mark the Homura doesn't. Not anymore. Winks at her in a way Homura would not. "Girl, that's not like you."

Homura shakes her head sharply. "You don't know who I am."

The witch's face lights up. "Oh! The stutter's gone!" Leans forward for a hug that Homura doesn't reciprocate and whispers: "Does that mean I can expect great things from you now on?"

Homura jabs her gun into the witch's side and isn't surprised when her body disappears but her laughter lingers.

* * *

She gets off at a random stop.

Well, more precisely, she gets off between stops. Society is too high tech. Too wired. If they want to, they'll find her. Credit card, debit card, bus pass, cell phone, telephone card – heck, half the guns she's stolen have some sort of identifying mechanism in them.

Of course, those guns are in a different dimension where GPS doesn't track.

But in any case, it's best to disappear… abruptly.

Time stops as she hops out.

She finds herself underneath a bridge, toying with her beretta when a girl, dirty and bruised walks up to her, without any apparent care. Her hands are thin underneath her layers. Red hair sticks out underneath a grimy cap.

Of all the coincidences…

"Is that real?" The girl asks, voice a little too brittle to be friendly.

"Kyouko," Homura greets automatically before remembering that they've never met but then she's being jumped.

It's pathetic, but Homura's reflexes have dulled and most of all, she doesn't actually want to hurt Kyouko.

They've always been similar. Fighting to save people who don't want to be saved.

And even when everything goes back to normal they...

They're not normal.

It takes a minute but Kyouko's wiry strength comes out on top. She sits on top of Homura's chest and points the gun at her head.

"Alright, hand over all your money," Kyouko commands.

"The safety's still on, Sakura-san," Homura says dryly.

This Kyouko has never watched stolen cable TV (or maybe she has) but she's still not an idiot. The muzzle waves threateningly in front of her face.

"Just hand over your goddamn money."

Homura sighs as she digs through her pockets. The exercise is made somewhat more difficult by the presence of the ninety pound teenager sitting on her chest. "Aren't you little curious why I know your name?"

"What?" Then Kyouko actually laughs. She pulls at her dirty red hair, gun still trained on Homura's head. "Saito told you, right? But if he thinks-" the girl takes a deep breath and gets herself back under control. "Okay, you know what? Just give me your freaking money."

"Kyouko-" Homura trails off because she never paused – not once – to consider what a perfectly normal world would do to someone like Kyouko.

No, deep down she did. She knew.

She just didn't care.

"Here," Homura says, offering a wad of cash and coins.

Kyouko jumps up, wearing clothes either too small or too large and then waves the gun threateningly as she grabs the fistful of change. She goes through it and the gun shakes.

"Where's the rest?" The redhead asks.

Homura blinks. There was ten thousand yen there. That's not exactly chump change. "Kyouko- it's all I -"

"_Where is the rest_?" Kyouko screeches, gun jittery.

Homura reminds herself that she can stop time but her – rather more intelligent - brain reminds herself that her reflexes aren't good enough to avoid getting shot if the trigger is pulled. Perhaps she should just end this farce.

But she's curious. "Why do you need so much money?"

Kyouko takes a breath – but then sirens ring and the girl spooks.

Homura winces as the gun goes for a dive in the river but Kyouko is already running.

* * *

Homura shadows the redhead.

Not exactly the most dignified use of the ability to stop time but Kyouko – this Kyouko, anyway – is a lot more perceptive than Sayaka or Madoka and Homura stands out. She's too small, too well dressed, too obviously… rich.

And she's not the only one shadowing Kyouko.

Either she had been annoying gangbangers or they want her for a reason.

Homura considers shooting them and dumping their bodies in the river before remembering that that would be... wrong.

She doesn't remember why though.

But… but it would be wrong.

Probably.

* * *

It's been a long time since she hit anyone with a golf club.

The first time stop and apparently it's not enough. The second one leaves them bloody but hopefully alive.

Not that anyone would miss them-

_What happened to your resolve?_ the Witch within whispers. _Didn't you mean to never again use your powers? You're not a Puella Magi. There are no Witches. There is no threat. The Universe is going to die and you killed it-_

"Shut up," Homura whispers, throwing away the golf club.

It hits the ground with a clatter.

She looks up to the building where Kyouko was off to in such a hurry.

Hospital. Huh.

* * *

"Look, I _have_ your stupid money," she hears Kyouko shout. "Just, she's – she's my only sister. Please, I have money-"

Kyouko has a very piercing yell. Very… noticeable.

Should Homura feel pity? For someone who let dozens upon dozens of people die so she could feed her selfish desires?

No. She shouldn't.

But then again, she would be a hypocrite if she condemned her.

A girl named Homura did the same damn thing.

Over and over and over again.

* * *

"Hello," Homura greets, planting herself down on the bench next to the redhead in the hospital's waiting room.

Kyouko doesn't jump but there's a tenseness to her fingers. She can almost see the body blow that the redhead is preparing to throw at the slightest indication of violence. "I can't give you back your money."

Kyouko sounds surprisingly distracted for meeting someone who was robbed at gunpoint not ten minutes ago.

"Two guys were tailing you," Homura announces.

"They followed – oh. Oh. _Great_." Kyouko looks sideways. Her eyes are red. So are her irises. The overall effect is uncanny. "_What_ do you want?"

"I'm not sure." Homura admits and says the first thing that comes to mind. It's shallow and stupid. "I guess I wanted… to see a hero."

"There are no heroes," Kyouko bites out.

The redhead looks like she's debating something with herself.

"How much more money do you need?" Homura asks.

* * *

Ten minutes later in Kyouko's perception of time, she's hit with a bag full of cash. The redhead looks at it incredulously.

"How-"

"You don't want to know," Homura says honestly.

Despite the generosity Kyouko is still suspicious. "Look. I – I don't know what Saito said, but I'm not a whore-"

"But for that much money you would be," Homura says, almost curious.

Kyouko bites the inside of her cheek but nods, a fraction of a degree. Subtle enough you could almost miss it.

Homura shrugs and says nothing.

* * *

She follows Kyouko out of the hospital. It's clear Kyouko wants to stay but it's clearer that she's trying to keep her sister under the radar.

After a few blocks, the redhead turns, hands in her pockets. "Alright. Where do you want to do this?"

The girl looks nervous. A little voice in the back of Homura's head cackles.

"I don't know," Homura replies, honestly enough. She watches as Kyouko grits her teeth and walks up to her. A clumsy hand gropes her ass.

Homura is almost too startled to react.

Almost being key.

A vicelike hand clamps onto Kyouko's arm and then twists. The malnourished girl is wiry but she wasn't expecting this. Not from a… client. Or whatever it is their relationship is. She tries to smile through the pain but can't quite manage it and goes fiery instead.

"Ow! What the hell is this for?"

"I did not ask you to touch me," Homura says frostily as she bends Kyouko's arm further.

The girl blinks tears. "Well, yeah, you didn't tell me anything. What do you _want_? I thought-"

"You thought wrong." Homura says, letting go.

Kyouko mutters 'crazy-ass cutter' (or is it nutter) as she rubs feeling back into her arm and walks away.

They visit two convenience stores. Homura pays for all her snacks. Kyouko pays for about a tenth. They visit increasingly shadier places. Homura can feel the eyes on her – what's a girl like her doing in a place like this? Too young to be working the streets, not in a rich kid's getup like that. And refusing all the pushers. Oddity.

No one likes oddities.

"You're slumming, aren't you?" Kyouko asks as they pass through a back alley. "Looking for a little excitement? Playing hero for all us poor little homeless bastards? You get your jollies that way? It's why rich guys write checks to charities, right?"

Homura takes the idea and tries to shake it around in her head. It doesn't stick. "I don't… think so."

To all questions. Including the one about rich guys.

Kyouko shrugs. "Look, if you want to-" pause. "I mean, that money? I'm not saying I'm not thankful but if you want anything from me, then just say it. Let me pay. I don't want to owe no one nothing."

Homura considers it for a moment.

"Let me follow you around for a bit then," she decides.

Kyouko's eyebrows rise. "Oh… kay then. Follow me, Princess."

* * *

"Not exactly the nicest place ever," Kyouko whispers, as they wander through an abandoned church. The pews groan as Homura steps on them. "But not many people will bother us here."

The toes of Homura's shoes crunch on cardboard and discarded candy wrappers. Some of it is sticky.

"Are you expecting people to bother you?"

"Of course," Kyouko says, sounding dismissive. "I don't run with a crew. No one likes someone working independent. But this place? Broken down and condemned. I think the roof might have sent someone to the hospital."

Homura wonders idly if that was a threat. Doesn't really care.

"Why aren't you living with your parents?" Homura asks, genuinely curious.

Kyouko laughs outright.

* * *

"Charity to strangers," her witch says, sitting on the pews. She gives Homura a look. "You do know what Catholic priests are reputed for, right? Other than their long, boring sermons and burning witches?"

Homura stays silent.

This is only a dream.

"But who's the priest? Who has the power?" The witch twines her finger in Homura's hair. "That's you, dear. You have the power. All you need to do is – experiment."

Homura looks away.

"Oh, don't think that," her witch says, putting a finger on her lips. Their lips. It's hard to tell, sometimes. "You're already doing great. Robbing mom and pop shops to save a little girl. Giving thugs concussions left and right. Toying with little Sakura's heart-"

That is far too much like Sayaka's accusation and Homura's patience snaps.

"I'm not toying with her heart-"

Her witch laughs. "Oh yes you are. But be careful." Voice lowers into a dreamy whisper. "This one bites."

* * *

Homura wakes up.

Her throat isn't slit.

For a moment she almost feels… disappointed.

The moment passes.

Kyouko is waiting for her, rubbing her hands together to ward off the cold. "Princess, get up."

Homura snorts. _Her_. A _Princess._ Her back aches and she does feel a little chilly. Her soul gem shimmers in her pocket and she feels her toes again. The little aches and pains melt away. "Where are we going?"

"_I'm_ going to order pizza. You're… going wherever you feel like."

* * *

Japan still has payphones.

Huh.

"Hi, I'd like two super joker pizzas," Kyouko says, bright and cheerful. It's almost sickeningly cute. "Yes, all the toppings. And if you could add some asparagus – yes, that'd be great. I'll be there to pick it up. Twenty minutes? Alright, thanks!"

"Super joker?" Homura asks after the call is made and ten yen has sunk down into the payphone.

"Seafood pizza. Terrible idea." Kyouko says clinically. "They won't be able to sell it. They never will. When I don't show up they'll toss it into the trash." She smiles. "Then I go grab it."

Homura blinks. "That's… pretty clever."

"Yeah, well, don't use it too often or they'll start catching on. And it's not exactly great pizza either. Come on, we have a few hours to kill. Remember, you take care of yourself-"

"I will," Homura says simply.

* * *

"Alright, just – just sit there."

Homura sits. "What should I-"

"I don't know. Order a coffee. Some of us have jobs to do."

It shouldn't be that easy for someone with bright red hair to slither into the crowd and turn anonymous but then again Japan is pretty big on the whole dyed hair business. Homura sits and orders a coffee.

She pays them with money from their own register.

Oh well.

* * *

"Useless, useless, useless-" Kyouko grimaces as she looks through her haul. "It's like no one carries money anymore."

Homura crooks an eyebrow. "This is the twenty-first century."

Half the people in Japan can pay for groceries using their _cell phones_.

"Yeah, well – _great_," Kyouko say, slapping down a handful of credit cards. "What the hell am I going to do with this?"

Homura shrugs. "How much do you need?"

Kyouko looks like she might accept the offer – but the she shakes her head, grumbles: "I can go without. Anko's fine. I'm – I'm fine."

_She doesn't trust you because she knows you're dangerous,_ someone whispers into Homura's ear. She can feel the breath on the back of her neck and is, for a moment, frozen solid.

Homura turns but no one is there.

* * *

"How come you don't beg?" Homura asks, while they munch on what is arguably the most… unique pizza in Japan. Kyouko offered her some of it, pro bono. Homura still pays for her slice.

She eats every crumb though.

"How many teenagers have you seen begging for change?" Kyouko asks between mouthfuls of cheese and seafood. "Beggars have their own system. Kids aren't part of it. They get forced out. Adults have the muscle. We-"

"I've seen kids-"

"Oh have you." Kyouko says, sounding terribly old and condescending.

Homura's mouth shuts.

That's probably the first time Kyouko has managed to do that to her.

"You don't see us. That's the point. Teenagers – they don't want to be seen. Not by pigs. Not by adult crews running the underworld. Invisible. That's the ideal. Well, the _smart_ ideal. That's what we want to be. That's what _you_ want to be." She breezes through another few bites of scallops and pizza bread. "Now as long as you don't look _too_ ratty and take a bath every now and then, you can almost pass for normal."

Homura almost chokes on her food and has to fake a vigorous cough.

* * *

She notices their followers before Kyouko does.

It would be _so_ much easier to shoot them through the head and dump their bodies in the river.

_So_ much easier.

No one ever suspects the time-traveling magical zombie.

"Kyouko."

"Yes Princess?"

"How many people are mad at you?"

* * *

"You're good," Kyouko compliments after they get themselves out of the dumpster. Homura tries not to gag as she crawls out. Her shoes squeak and she is _very_ tempted to go into the Puella Magi wardrobe just to get into something dry.

"Thanks," she mutters.

"How did you spot them?" Kyouko asks curiously.

"Bloodlust."

Kyouko's stops. "You – you're telling me you can do that psychic samurai warrior thing…"

Homura continues to squeak down the alleyway.

"Bloodlust?" Kyouko calls disbelievingly at her back. "_Really_?"

Homura frowns and looks back. "Can't everyone do that?"

* * *

"There is _no_ way I'm going to believe that old fairy tail about killing intent and bloodlust and… and whatever else it is." Kyouko says, while they walk through a grocery store.

People are giving them odd looks. Or maybe just grimaces. They do stink.

Homura watches Kyouko openly sample a few grapes.

"Would you believe me if I said I could travel through time?" Homura asks conversationally, adding a bag of apples to the cart.

"No!"

Homura shrugs. "Then believe whatever you want to believe."

Kyouko snaps her mouth shut and gives her a disgruntled look. After piling on tomatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, broccoli and tangerines Kyouko stops her.

"Where exactly are you planning on cooking all this?"

Homura pauses.

It feels like the answer is on the tip of her tongue.

She could-

But no. She's following Kyouko.

With a grimace, Homura starts putting most of the vegetables away. She doubles up on their fresh fruit, though. Tangerines can last – oh, a week. Maybe two? Lack of funds has never been a problem for her before.

Oh.

And they don't have a fridge either.

Homura is tempted to throw everything back and just go with oranges and tangerines but Kyouko is eying the bag of apples so longingly that she decides to run with it.

* * *

Kyouko has a look of cautious surprise on her face when Homura hands her half the groceries as they exit the store.

"I'm not your errand girl," she mutters, shoving it back. "That definitely wasn't part of the deal."

Homura pushes them back into her hands. "They're yours."

There are many things Kyouko would refuse but food has never been one of them – in this life or any other. The girl doesn't quite manage to hide her expression of bliss as she reaches into the bag and starts munching on an apple, grocery bags hanging off her other arm.

"Maybe you're not so bad," Kyouko opines between bites.

Homura mentally tallies up the amount of money and trouble that she has managed to save Kyouko from in the last two days and what's _maybe_ a thousand yen worth of food sitting in the bag that Kyouko's carrying and decides that some things just don't change.

* * *

Kyouko goes to sleep hugging her bag of assorted foodstuffs.

Homura isn't sure if it's adorable or sad or a slapdash, confusing mixture of both but smiles anyway.

Then she flicks the safety off her gun and walks outside.

* * *

Time stops.

Homura counts the number of people who've followed them but can only find two. And they're walking straight towards them.

Can't have that.

She positions herself behind thug one and pokes him with the barrel of her gun.

Time resumes.

Thug one stiffens.

"You have ten seconds to tell me why you're following her." Homura tells him.

Thug One has seen too many movies or maybe he doesn't actually believe that a voice that young could be deadly and tries to turn.

Time stops.

He'll wake up with a concussion if he's lucky.

Time resumes and Thug Two who has about three feet, a hundred pounds on her tries to shatter her jaw.

He howls when she dislocates his arm.

Homura shoves her gun underneath his chin and cocks it. Accidental discharge would be unfortunate, yes.

Thug Two shows a surprising amount of self-control as he stops screaming.

"You have ten seconds to tell me why you're following her," she repeats.

Thug Two takes a deep breath.

Homura leans on his dislocated shoulder. "Nine."

"Do you know who Saito is?"

"Seven."

She cans see his nervousness. "Okay, look. Kid. You're good-"

"Six."

Homura considers cocking the gun or making some other sort of point. Apparently he has seen that look somewhere because Thug Two goes white.

"Okay_. Okay!_ Just stop counting!"

"Five."

"The redhead bitch is -" he winces when Homura automatically puts more pressure on his injured arm. "-the girl is some rich-ass preacher's estranged daughter. She is worth a _lot_. If you fuck this up Saito will come for you and-"

"…three."

"_What_? That's the truth!"

"Two."

Open panic. He tries to struggle despite the injured arm and the gun to his throat. "Oh come _on_. It _is_ the truth."

"Sakura Murata was excommunicated eight years ago. He would have been dirt poor." Homura says tonelessly. "One."

"What have you been _smoking_? Sakura Murata is a fucking household name. His church was a fucking _cult_. He made _billions _of yen."

Homura is mulling this about in her head – it's a bit of a stretch but not impossible…

Time stops.

* * *

"Isn't that _typical_," the witch says. "Only calling on me when it suits you."

Homura wonders about her state of mind when her evil alter ego starts wearing a slinky black dress and leans on unconscious thugs like they're lawn chairs.

"What is going on?" Homura asks. She has the impression she should be shouting but just feels the heady touch of adrenaline pumping through her system. "We had a deal."

The witch smirks in a way that Homura will never manage. It's full of nuance and subtle amusement, a da Vinci compared to a child's sand castle.

"_Madoka_ had a deal. A wish. You were its… beneficiary. Are you jealous you weren't the only one?"

"_This _is not a _blessing_." Homura hisses. She points backwards to the church. "_She_ is not blessed either."

"Oh stop _whining,_" The witch bites out, smirk disappearing as she gets to her feet. A hand runs through what is probably supposed to be attractively dishevelled hair.

"You can be a _God, _Homura_._ You are the most powerful entity on this pissant of a planet. You have the potential to be the greatest thing in the known Universe. And what have you done? _What_ have you done?"

Despite herself Homura flinches.

"Cured cancer? Freed people from poverty? Explored the stars? Stopped the universe from a slow, lingering death? No." The witch pokes a mocking finger into Homura's chest. "You dig through trash like some common vagrant. But that is _much_ better than what you were thinking while under that bridge-"

Ah.

"You arranged for Kyouko to find me," Homura deduces, feeling very slow indeed.

Yes, in retrospect the meeting felt a little… convenient.

"Maybe. Maybe not. You might be the big fish in this particular pond," the witch says cryptically, "but you're not the only fish. There are layers at work here." She nods to the unconscious thugs. "Here's a layer: Kyouko Sakura has a sister and they know she has one. Another layer: they are going to hurt Kyouko until she becomes… compliant." Whisper in her ear. "That means _rape_."

Big, fake smile. She pats Homura on the cheek condescendingly.

"Now be a good girl and do what you have to do."

Time resumes.

* * *

The witch is using her.

She doesn't like being used.

* * *

But she isn't normal and the rage has begun to simmer.

* * *

A memory of long ago:

Out damn'd spot

Out I say.

* * *

There are still payphones in Japan. Homura slides in the ten-yen coin.

Her fingers shake.

It's only the cold.

Two rings before the other end is picked up. Homura takes a deep breath.

"Hello, may I speak to Mado-"

There's a clatter as the person on the other end drops their receiver before picking it up again.

"Homura! Ohmyg – _Homura-chan_. That's you, isn't it? Where are you?"

"Uh-"

"After you didn't come in on Monday Sayaka thought something had happened so we visited your apartment but you weren't in and we _waited _but you still weren't in and there are men in _black suits wandering around your apartment _areyouokay?"

Homura blinks.

Men in black suits?

"Madoka," Homura says slowly. "Stay away from those men."

"Okay." Madoka says. Homura can almost see the vigorous nodding that accompanies her words. "I will."

Good girl.

She has to go back.

But she can't, she can't-

"…Homura-chan," Madoka says after a moment of silence. "Is everything okay?"

Instinct ingrained into her through hundreds of repetitions yell at her _not_ to say what she wants to say. Homura protects Madoka. That's how the universe works. That's how the universe always works. She made a _promise_.

"I think I broke something," Homura says as the universe has a temporary malfunction.

"You're _hurt_?" The pink-haired girl exclaims, sounding like she's going to start going into full-blown panic mode and that means either hyper-competency or a fainting spell.

Homura tries to avoid either. Hyper-competent Madoka is _scary_ perceptive. "No. Not my… not my body. In my head. I'm… _broken_. Like Sayaka said. Freak."

Homura wipes away the moisture at her eyes and then looks at her own fingers, confused.

This doesn't make sense.

She doesn't… she doesn't _cry_.

This isn't even what she wanted to talk about.

"Sayaka called you a freak?" Madoka asks flatly; a tone that only someone very close to Madoka would know lies a purity of purpose. Not quite anger but getting there.

"Not, not in so many words…" Homura says before sighing. This… when did this communicating thing get so complicated? "Nevermind. It wasn't like that. She just…" Homura pauses and gets her thoughts in order. "Madoka. I need to ask you a question."

The other girl perks up. "Anything, Homura-chan."

She licks dried, cracked lips. "…is it wrong to hurt people? Bad people? If they were going to hurt you first and-"

There's a pause on the other end. When Madoka speaks again her voice is so sad that Homura almost thinks that Madoka has taken her share of pain for her. Maybe that's how it all evens out.

"Homura… what happened?"

"I-"

Whatever fledgling courage had been born died because that concern, that _kindness_ always hurts too much.

Always.

Homura's hand trembles. Like the tears, she doesn't understand why. She's not good enough for Madoka. Never.

"I'm sorry I called."

"Homura, don't-"

She hangs up.

* * *

What a stupid question.

What a stupid, _stupid_ question.

Homura slams her head onto cheap plastic a few times before stalking out of the phone booth.

* * *

She wakes up to someone slapping her cheeks.

"What are those two doing here?" Kyouko hisses.

Homura blinks groggily. Kyouko is sitting on her chest.

"Two?" She asks sleepily.

Kyouko grabs her by the collar and drags her up. Then she points at the two thugs trussed up in front of the church with a combination of rope and duct tape. And cloth bandages. Homura notices that Kyouko still hasn't let go of her bag of fruit.

"Oh." Homura says intelligently.

"Yes. 'Oh'." Kyouko's face shoves itself in front of her own. "Princess, _what _are they doing there? Why are they _bleeding_? I know _I_ didn't do it. So that leaves…" the redhead grins at her, though it's not an expression that reaches her eyes and looks a little frightened. "You."

Homura purses her lips. "I think they wanted to... something… something…"

Kyouko groans. "Oh, _come on _Princess_ – _wake up. Two bloody men in front of my home. I _need to know_ what's going on."

"Thugs. Wanted to collect." Homura says, waking up. Her eyes widen: she hadn't even meant to go to sleep. "…you. For money. Wanted to hurt you. Bad. Couldn't – couldn't let them. Not fair. Not fair. World isn't fair. This was supposed to be the happy world where everything went right and-"

Kyouko gives her babble a long, considering pause.

"Princess. Are you _drunk?_"

* * *

No. No that's silly.

Of course she isn't drunk.

Right?

* * *

"You stabbed them." Kyouko says flatly when Homura doesn't answer.

"A little?" Homura hazards.

Her memories are a little fuzzy. And it's not fair. Apparently Kyuubey didn't like them drinking on the job because the pain of the hangover has (in her humble, inexperienced opinion) not been dulled at all.

Kyouko looks at her and then looks away. There is anger there. Real anger. Disgust too, maybe. "Princess. What the hell were you _thinking_?"

"They were going to hurt you."

"That doesn't mean you can _torture_ people."

Torture?

No no no. Torture has a purpose.

This was just pain.

_You did it because you **liked** it._

Shut up.

"Princess, you can't just-" Kyouko puts a hand over her mouth and looks away from all the red. "Invisible. I told you we had to be _invisible_. What part of _this_ looks invisible to you? Huh? God – were you raised by Fortune 500 wolves or something?"

"Four hundred and eighty-seven."

"Huh?"

"Four hundred and eighty seven wolves." Homura considers this timeline and supposes it's a bit of a crapshoot already. "And a quarter."

Kyouko gives her an aggressively disbelievingly look. "_What_?"

"Well, maybe an eighth-"

"You're insane." Kyouko whispers. "You're – you're _actually_ insane."

Homura can't help but laugh.

It might have come out a little strained.

"Kyouko," she asks, "why are you on the streets?"

* * *

Layers, the witch called them.

* * *

"I can't..." Kyouko starts before shaking her head. "What did _they_ tell you?"

"They told me you were very rich. They wanted to take your fortune. Your father's fortune. A fortune that could help save your sister."

The redhead gives her a furious glare. "Were. _Were._ Dad kicked us out. He didn't pay a _cent_ for Anko's treatment. And he _made_ people do-" Kyouko takes a deep breath. "Look, we're not even in his will. These people are idiots."

Made people do... what?

"Kyouko," Homura says, feeling very tired all of a sudden. "Could your father control people? Their minds?"

* * *

The redhead looks at her with wide, frightened eyes.

* * *

Oh Madoka.

Well-meaning, well-intentioned Madoka.

What have you done?

* * *

**Author's Notes**: This was _supposed_ to be relatively straightforward piece. Guess it's not going in quite that direction anymore. Eventual Homura x Kyouko if you haven't spotted it already. The title is somewhat pretentiously taken from Jack Gilbert's poem, **Flying and Failing**. The subject matter here could probably be rated M but for those of you worried about such things, we should be staying on this side of T.


	2. Chapter 2

**Anything Worth Doing is Worth Doing Badly**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Silence echoes.

Figure of speech. Rhetorical device. Contradiction. A word game made of gleaming ivory towers that never existed.

Doesn't make it any less true.

* * *

Kyouko swallows several times, clutching her bag of fruit closer to herself.

The question feels like a weight between them, warping the fragile fabric of their relationship until it defines them rather than the other way around.

The redhead suddenly looks very small, lost in the folds of her too-large jacket and the shadows cast by dilapidated walls and broken, stained glass windows. Her wrists are too thin, too dirty and the bags underneath her eyes have accumulated years worth of weariness.

She is shorter than Homura remembers.

Funny how she didn't notice that before.

"Kyouko," Homura tries, "did your father-"

"Heard you the first time," the redhead replies. Her tone of voice is probably intended to be harsh but it feels pained instead. "I – I owe you Princess, but…"

Eyes that don't beg are pleading with her.

* * *

Homura knows that tone of voice. Those eyes.

She's used it herself. On Madoka. Always Madoka.

You don't want to know. You can't know. I've seen the end of this story and ignorance doesn't only mean bliss, it means survival. I _will_ protect you. Even from yourself.

Her trigger finger itches in sympathy but old instincts are hard to kill.

Wishes were granted.

* * *

"I need to know," Homura says, taking a step forward.

She doesn't know it, but she has that look on her face. The one which terrified Sayaka, the one that could watch Mami and Kyouko die, and the one that hurt Madoka more than the pink-haired girl could ever hope to tell. The one which doesn't care whether or not a timetraveller is tired, suffering from a headache brought upon by alcohol she doesn't remember consuming or about to die killed by Walpurgis Night.

But this Kyouko has seen faces just like this one before.

Maybe all Kyoukos have seen faces like this one.

"You _don't _need to know_,_"the redhead whispers. "And please don't ask."

Homura stops herself from reaching into her shield but only just.

Homura works her mouth a few times and discovers her immediate social skills have decayed beyond disuse into something that might vaguely resemble rusted barbed wire. "Please? Kyouko?" She knows she sounds lame but cannot help it. She has heard Sayaka call her mysterious once. It's true in the same way a the glass shards of a broken beer bottle look mysterious. "This is… important."

Kyouko opens her mouth before closing it. Opens it again. "I'm calling an ambulance for Saito's goons."

Then the redhead walks towards and past her.

* * *

Homura blinks something away as she looks at Kyouko's back.

This feels familiar somehow.

* * *

They walk in something closer to cold than to silence, feet tap-tapping against old concrete; one in sneakers old and stained, the other in black boots with just a hint of heel. Homura watches as Kyouko dials emergency services on the payphone. The first attempt must have been a misdial because after speaking into the receiver she immediately hangs up and tries again.

There's a part of Homura that wonders why it's necessary to call at all, another part that remembers that leaving the thugs to die would be as bad as killing them.

But the relevant link between why it's bad to kill and why it's bad to kill these particular people has gone missing. A change in the air, or maybe just a shift in the wind causes her to look back.

The witch is there, looking at her with an expression Homura can't identify.

"It's funny," her witch says, as Kyouko continues talking into the phone, oblivious to the witch's presence. "You were here just yesterday. Throwing yourself at Madoka." The witch lifted a hand to the sky as if in supplication. "Weren't you all: 'Madoka take me back, I'm not a monster, really, I'm not'?"

As her voice trails off Homura's jaw clenches and unclenches. Now that she's… slept on it, albeit badly, the witch _used_ those goons to distract Homura from the real issue. Wishes. Wishes might have been granted.

"Where are the others?" Homura demands.

The witch raises one elegant eyebrow and lowers her hand.

"It's rude, you know, just switching subjects like that," she replies airily. "Ignoring my words like they're… meaningless. Like they don't matter. I _am_ trying to help you, you know. Let me have my moment. Goodness knows that you'll take everything else."

Homura keeps her mouth shut and the witch nods in satisfaction.

"So, as I was saying, it's funny. Madoka's the one you want to be human for, but hey… you even _begin_ to suspect that there's a witch out there and you will gladly be her monster. A priest in the style of old, heart set on the purifying properties of fire." The witch pauses before continuing, musingly: "She's your God isn't she? Or something close."

When Homura doesn't answer, the witch gives her a long, considering look. "So what does that make you, hm? Her prophet? Or her hard-working Lucifer?"

Another muscle in Homura's jaw twitches.

The witch stalks closer.

"I thought yesterday would have made things clear. Those two boys bled so prettily, didn't they? You don't _want_ to be human," the witch says softly. "You don't want to be the monster either, but... hey, no one ever thinks that the Devil might do what he does out of love for God. Because someone has to do it and maybe the Devil doesn't want to see Him get his hands dirty. Such a twisted, beautiful love. The truest that there is." The witch chuckles dryly. "But that's a narrative not written. Because people like to think that love is healthy."

Homura is very still as the witch leans closer, so close that her chin nearly rests on Homura's shoulder.

"But we both know that's not true," comes the whisper. "I can still feel it. The beating of your tired heart when little Sakura here decided not to make things clear. Whether it was hypnotism, drugs, a misunderstanding… or actual, bona fide wish magic." She gestures towards the phone booth and to the redhead inside. "Because that's what you live for, Homura. You're like a soldier from the trenches, from the poems. If there's no battlefield, you'll make one up. Because it's who you are now. That scared little girl, underneath the bridge? She doesn't want the monsters to go away. She wants them to come back. Because they make her feel alive. Make her feel _useful_. And that's what you want to be. A pathetic little serving girl."

"Where are the others?" Homura asks steadily. It's just provocation.

And despite what the witch says, she could be normal.

She _could_.

The witch smiles. It is full of perfect, shiny teeth that Homura doesn't have. "Why don't you ask little Sakura here? All you'd have to do is what you did yesterday to those two little derelicts. Maybe less. And it could be so enjoyable. She's still so soft and fragile and... yummy. All hard edges and humor and half-broken faith. And strength. All that strength. But that makes it even better, doesn't it?" The witch licks her lips. "She would look adorable, wouldn't she? Covered in tears and blood, whimpering over a broken-"

She won't be provoked.

It's expected. The price for the witch's help yesterday. Torment. Sharper and more vindicative than usual.

Irrationally, she still feels hurt.

"_Where_ are the others?" Homura demands, one last time. Rule of threes.

Her alter ego's voice is a gleeful stage whisper. "You know I can't lie."

Yes. She knows.

That's why it hurts at all.

The witch smiles in the most awful way imaginable and like the Cheshire cat it's the last thing to disappear. "We're alone, Homura. We always were. The layers I talked about are all perfectly human. Blessed humans, perhaps, but humans all the same. Unlike you. But pretend away if you like."

A whisper, no, maybe just a thought lingers, something almost like perfume.

_You can still save the universe, you know._

* * *

"Yo. Anyone home?"

Homura blinks at the hand shoved in front of her face. Kyouko must have finished the call while the witch was visiting.

"H-hello?" Homura manages. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth.

Kyouko mutters something to herself and stomps back towards the church. Halfway back and nearly stepping over the bodies of the thugs the redhead announces, conversationally: "Princess, I don't think I ever even got your name."

Is… is that so.

"Akemi Homura," she replies. She can't look at Kyouko in the eye and ends up staring at her feet. "C…c-call me Homura."

"I think I will," Kyouko decides. "Homura… why are you following me? Was this -" her toes gesture towards the thugs but her voice encompasses the past few days, "all just to ask about my father?"

The redhead is as close to frustration as Homura has ever heard her.

No, there was that time in the hospital's waiting room.

Homura shakes her head.

Kyouko gives her a funny look. "No need to lie. Everyone wants him. Crummy old bastard." They make it to the church doors. "So. What do you need him for?"

How exactly do you tell someone that their father might be involved in an interstellar plot to stave off the heat death of the universe and in so doing, possibly destroy the earth? Also, she might end up killing him. That was an awkward conversation right there.

"I – I- I _don't_ need him, I-"

"Save it," Kyouko mutters. Shaking her head, the redhead opens the door and gestures for Homura to follow. The door swing shut behind her. It closes with a loud, unfortunate creak of rusted hinges and old metal hitting wood. In the half-dark of the lightless church, Kyouko turns to her. She looks peculiarly determined. Homura has seen that look. It's the look of someone with a plan.

"At least answer this: have we met before?"

The time traveller licks her lips. This is not, strictly speaking, a question that can be answered by yes or no. And she feels like she's being trapped.

"Not in this life," Homura admits carefully.

"Funny," Kyouko murmurs, "I remember meeting you." The redhead grabs her bag of fruit and other assorted foodstuffs from the pew where she left it and picks out an apple. Homura has the distinctive impression that the redhead is lying. The redhead looks ever so slightly guilty. It's in the smile. "It was a dream." Before Homura can process this particular revelation Kyouko adds, too bland to be innocent: "What were you doing under the bridge when we met?"

Oh.

Maybe not a lie.

When Homura doesn't answer, Kyouko continues speaking, walking deeper into the church. "You were going to do something bad, weren't you? Something that would make a random mugger something of a relief, huh?"

Homura remembers the comfortable feeling of metal in her hand. The soothing pull of the river. The easy way she could imagine falling down and never standing up again. There being an end. Maybe the witch is right. Maybe she doesn't feel complete without the fight.

But that doesn't mean she can't pretend.

Homura looks at her feet.

"Perhaps," comes the ghostly whisper.

Kyouko scratches her head before biting into her apple. "You looked different in my dream. Different outfit. Different attitude." She shakes her head. "You were _smiling_. And didn't have a gun. You just…" the redhead made a crescent with her bitten apple, "walked in and smiled as the waves took you away."

That did sound nice.

Kyouko must have been examining her face rather carefully because only a second later she mutters, disgustedly. "Jesus Christ, I _hate _being right. You're smiling _right_ now." She thrusts the bag of fruit into Homura's hands. "Okay, I think I understand. Hold this."

Homura holds the bag of fruit, confused.

"Wha-"

"For the record," Kyouko adds, still looking disgusted, "I never had that dream." The redhead plunges into the depths of the church, muttering to herself about weirdos and idiots.

* * *

There's a part of Homura that feels vindicated. She was right. Kyouko _was_ lying.

On the other hand.

How had the witch arranged their meeting?

* * *

Kyouko comes back holding what looks like old, photocopies stapled together. It has a number of interesting looking stains.

Homura wonders where it was kept.

"I'm _not_ going to talk about my dad," the redhead warns. "But while you're here I might as well try to do something for you. This is a house of divinity, even if the roof leaks and the floor is rotten and the flock is missing and it's probably a health hazard to an epic degree. But it's still a nice place. Spiritual and all that."

Kyouko holds out the papers and Homura exchanges them for the bag of fruit. She looks at the title curiously.

_Management of -_

But before she can finish the title, Kyouko has her by the shoulder and pushes her forwards. "Up. Let's go up."

* * *

There's a bell tower in the church. Belfry is the word, Homura vaguely remembers. The stairs up are a menace but Kyouko seems rather unworried about the prospect of a messy fall. There's barely any light here – it filters from above and besides Homura is concentrating too much on where to place her feet to worry about what exactly was written on the documents Kyouko handed her.

For a moment she imagines falling.

But that is self-indulgence and nothing more and she moves on. Despite what Kyouko's antipathy towards talking about her father Homura knows that ultimately she _must_ learn the truth, no matter how fantastic or how mundane.

They make the trip in silence, broken by the occasional pause for breath. By the time they get to the very top, they can hear the sirens of approaching emergency personnel. Kyouko climbs out of the sides where the bell is exposed to open in air and drops down from the belfry and onto the roof, one hand on her fruit, the other carefully providing balance.

Homura is impressed: she has trouble enough with her hands free. Shoving the documents into her shirt she tries to copy Kyouko.

They sit together there for a moment.

Or at least Kyouko sits there. Homura has plenty of strength but all the strength in the world doesn't do much when the roof feels like it's going to fall apart underneath your toes. Finally, she finds a spot that is relatively intact and sits down.

It creaks ominously.

"I never did thank you," The redhead asks as Homura gets herself settled in. Scarlet eyes gaze upon the horizon.

"You're welcome?" Homura replies faintly. Kyouko snorts and takes another bite out of her apple. Homura finally manages to get comfortable and takes out the pile of papers from her shirt and crinkles the old pages open.

The vocabulary here was apparently far beyond Kyouko's level – there are question marks on nearly every word and scribbled explanations. The title almost jumps out.

_'Management of Fatal Familial Insomnia.'_

Oh.

Oh Kyouko.

"Is this what your sister has?" Homura asks, flipping the package of papers open. The words 'progressive', 'seven to thirty-two months', 'untreatable' and, of course, 'fatal' pop out of the page.

In essence, you can't fall asleep and then die.

Kyouko is still looking at the horizon.

"Maybe… maybe it's nothing to you but Anko is all I have left. Treatment is… very expensive. And experimental. At first the doctor was interested because it's such a rare condition and usually never happens in someone her age but... no one does anything pro bono anymore. She was up for almost a month without sleep. Kept on telling me how tired she was. All I needed was money and she could have a few nights of solid rest again before we had to do things over."

The redhead swallows before loudly clearing her throat. "And I couldn't do anything except beg the doc and steal pocket change for her. I was… pretty desperate. So. Um. Thank you."

There's a funny feeling at the pit of Homura's stomach. It's unfamiliar and not precisely comfortable… but it's not exactly painful either. "You're welc-"

The sound of sirens and screeching tired swallows her acknowledgment. Below the paramedics finally arrive and start bundling up the two thugs. None bother to look up. And why should they? Within moments they're gone.

"Y-you're welcome," Homura repeats.

"Not really," Kyouko mutters. She's looking up at the sky. "Homura, do you think my father can help you? Is that what this is about? You want a memory erased or a trauma undone? Because that's not what he does. He can't call on God and make everything alright again. It's... it's something else. Something terrible. And you, you have to work through your issues. With the kind of money you throw around you could get yourself a counselor or therapist easy. Some might even be able to help you."

"That's not it."

"Really?" Kyouko asks, sounding skeptical. She starts ticking off fingers. "You're not here to steal my supposed 'inheritance.' You're not one of Saito's. I don't think you're here on behalf of my missing, asshole father. You're not even here to sleep with me. And this morning I wake up and two of Saito's goons are painting the steps of the church red and _you're_ sobbing about perfect worlds."

No one ever suspects the magical time traveling zombie.

"And there's more." Kyouko switches her gaze from the sky to Homura and ticks off her other hand. "You're used to blood. You're hyper-aware of your surroundings. You don't like men and you don't like being touched."

Homura winces. Those observations cut a little closer to home.

Kyouko shifts her weight and scoots towards Homura. Gently she asks: "What happened?"

"You wouldn't believe me," Homura whispers. She's a little too aware of Kyouko's body heat and it's making her uncomfortable for reasons she's not entirely sure she's at ease with just yet.

"Try me," Kyouko asks.

* * *

Bad idea.

It's always a bad idea. A hundred times she tried. Literally.

It never worked.

But she tries again.

* * *

"The universe is dying.

No, it's not a metaphor.

Or-or maybe it is. I guess the universe isn't really alive so maybe it can't die. Not like we think of death, anyway- have you heard the poem? 'Do not go gentle into that good night'? It will happen a bit like that.

'Burn and rage at the closing of the day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'

…

All the lights will go out, Kyouko. Each and every one. It will be cold. A cold you can't imagine. And dark. Everywhere and forever.

And that will be 'The End.'

Um.

So in this dying universe an old race raged against the dying of the light. But they couldn't stop it. They didn't know how. And they raged. It was rage without anger, destruction without purpose, nihilism without despair. It was terrible, Kyouko. They... are, well, they aren't conquerors. More like a force of nature. They... they don't feel. They _can't_ feel. So they can't empathize. But even so, they don't want to end.

So they raged against the dying of the light.

But then they found a little blue and green world with cities made of glass and steel..."

* * *

Silence echoes.

* * *

"You don't believe me," Homura whispers, interrupting her story mid-sentence.

Kyouko grimaces. Her apple is untouched. Perhaps out of deference, more likely out of shock. Clearly she wasn't expecting anything like this. "I, um-"

"It's okay." Homura mutters, bringing her knees to her chest and placing her head on them. Her hair drapes over them, almost like a dress. "No one ever does. Not until it's too late. And it's always too late."

Kyouko is silent.

"It's funny," Homura says, an unconscious mirror to her witch. "I tried to tell them about it, again and again. How far gone you had to be just to get the opportunity to look into the abyss. You were always the one that came closest to believing." Shrug. "Maybe because you already saw it."

"Homura?" Kyouko asks, bewildered and sounding a little scared. "I was making that up. We never met. That dream thing was me being clever. Or trying to. Ha."

Explaining what she meant would involve trying to explain the story again.

"I… enjoyed this." Homura whispers and is almost surprised to discover it's true. "These past few days." She swallows, suddenly tired. "Please don't make me go away."

She's begging.

Homura doesn't beg.

Well, maybe she doesn't want to be Homura right now. Her witch is right. Homura would force the truth from Kyouko's lips and damn the consequences. There's a part of her, even now, that wants to. And maybe that part of her would even thoroughly enjoy it, in a sick, twisted way.

But there's another part that just wants Kyouko to sit there and listen to her as she tells a story and maybe make a snippy comment or disbelieving snort or... something.

It'd be… nice.

Normal. Because that's what normal people do, right? They throw pity parties and have BFFs and don't think about the end of the universe (or maybe just the world) because that's not their problem and maybe they even climb onto rickety old buildings and watch the sun go up despite the smashed windows and the junk and the disrepute.

Okay, so there's the issue of them being homeless, and Kyouko's little sister and the witch in her head but it's…

It's kind of pleasant anyway and Homura doesn't want to leave.

Not right now.

They sit there for a moment.

"A long time ago," Kyouko murmurs, sounding solemn, "people would go to churches to seek sanctuary. And the church wouldn't turn them away, no matter who they were or what they had done." Homura can hear the redhead wet her lips as she searches for some long ago buried memory and recites it, rote. "'Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares'." She bites into her apple. "I always liked that one."

"I'm not an angel," Homura notes neutrally.

"Yeah, well, I wanted hospitality too so it's not strictly out of the goodness of my oh-so charitable heart," Kyouko returns, kind-of grin in her voice as she punches Homura's shoulder playfully. Homura's face is still buried in her knees. "I have faith in a lot of things that most people don't. God for one. You for another, goodness knows why."

Gently, she tilts Homura's chin up until they're looking straight at each other.

"So um, please, tell me your story."

* * *

Homura does.

It takes… hours, maybe. Breakfast flies by and is composed of apples and Kyuubey and the subject of wishes. Kyouko thinks it's a load of horse dung: how can Kyuubey _possibly_ be worried about the end of the Universe? and she grumbles when Homura says it's true.

"Even I know that the sun has got a million billion years left in it."

"But that's not forever," Homura replies.

"It's not like they'd be there then," Kyouko grumbles back. Then a thought occurs to her. "Would they?"

Homura shrugs but the question frightens her. "I don't know."

"Huh. Well, go on."

Homura does. It's an effort to talk about things that hit closer to home. Waking up in the hospital. Going to school. Her days as a pathetic, weak and somewhat behind the curve. Nearly getting eaten. Madoka, Mami – Walpurgis Night… and then the chance to do everything over.

Kyouko hmmms and says nothing but there's a grin there anyway.

Homura breaks. "You don't believe-"

"Oh stop that," Kyouko chides. "I don't believe that Moses waved his arms and made the Red Sea part either but that didn't make me stop believing in God." Her voice is light. "What I _really_ don't believe though is you acting like a wimp and a crybaby. Continue."

"I'm not lying-"

"Never said you were," Kyouko says in the same tone but it's slightly aggrieved, as if she were talking to a small child.

It occurs to Homura that Kyouko could have demanded validation. But… her abilities didn't work like that anymore. The weaknesses were ironed out. Even the gem was just for show. All of that... but for a price.

"Earth to Homura," Kyouko says, waving a hand in front of her face. "Are you in there somewhere?"

"Yes, yes of course." Homura murmurs. "Where was I?"

"A blonde and a girl with pink hair just saved your ass."

Ah, right.

She continues.

* * *

It's easy enough talking about watching Madoka and Mami save the world. Maybe she even captures the original awe and the wonder of an average girl getting to watch heroes do great things. Even if it's all a sham for a few precious moments Homura remembers what it was like to believe that she was living a modern fairy tale instead of one from the Brothers Grimm where children that strayed from the true and narrow were eaten by things that went bump in the night.

But night came anyway.

"Mami was dead." Homura says, blinking her eyes. "And Madoka... looked at me. And she... she said-"

Despite the tears she's already shed, despite the fact that the wound is older than anyone still human, despite the fact that it was something that never happened (and never will) Homura feels her eyes mist up.

"She said she was proud she had saved me," Homura says, choking on her words. "She was so little. But she was saving the world and... she was smiling. And I... I couldn't do anything." Homura's eyes are streaming and her voice is hoarse. "I couldn't do anything."

Kyouko is quiet. Finally: "You love her."

"Maybe?" Homura says. "I... I don't know. I _do_ but it's so much more. It's like this _thing_ inside that I can't understand. Every time I see her face I feel like I could fly or run or just laugh for days on end and then - she _glows_ Kyouko," and her voice retakes some of its old animation despite the rasping quality that is the result of someone who doesn't usually talk at all talking for hours, "I don't know how. She's just so _kind_. It's so painful to be near and it's so painful to be away and - and is it supposed to hurt?"

Kyouko's voice is soft. "No. But sometimes it does anyway. Love is like that."

"I guess it is," Homura admits quietly. "I just want to be close and yet-"

"-you're scared," Kyouko finishes. "And sometimes you even feel guilty."

Homura stares. Her eyes have stopped leaking but her vision is still a little blurry. Since when was Kyouko a psychic?

"What?" Kyouko asks when Homura continues to stare.

"How did you know?" Homura blurts out. It might come out as a bit of a croak.

Scarlet eyes roll. "How do you think?"

The redhead is probably humoring her by listening to her long and involved tale that but Homura answers with the first thing that comes into her head. "You can read minds in this timeline. Somehow. Maybe Kyuubey contracted with you. Maybe you were born with-"

Kyouko lifts up a warding hand. "Um. Hahaha. But no. I _am_ familiar with guilt though."

The redhead seems to be hinting at something with her last few words but Homura can't quite read the subtext. It could be leaning in any direction, really. Wasn't there an expression about Christian guilt?

"But you shouldn't feel guilty, Homura," Kyouko continues softly. "Not for feeling. Never that."

"But I _did_ things," Homura whispers. "I let them - I let you - die. Again and again and again."

Carefully, the redhead wraps her arms around Homura and lays her head on her shoulder. "Shhh, I'm still here."

"Am I a monster, Kyouko?" Homura asks, dreading the answer. "Am I - am I just some crazy-"

"No one's a monster," Kyouko replies, shushing her. "No one."

* * *

Even if it's midday and the sun is still up Homura falls asleep.

Long night and all that.

It's not dignified. There's snot bubbling at her nose and tear tracks running down her eyes and the past few days have made her somewhat ripe smelling. Her hair's a tangled, awful mess an the heel of one of her boots is threatening to divorce the rest of her footwear. And her body must have survival reflexes that she consciously suppresses because the moment she does go to sleep, the fact that the roof is unstable and sloped and _dangerous_ causes her to press herself against Kyouko more tightly.

Maybe she snores, maybe she doesn't.

All she knows is that for the first time in her life, someone holds her when she falls asleep.

And despite the tears-

Despite the doubt-

Despite the worry-

Despite even the witch-

It's kind of... nice.

And when Homura dreams, no one's dying.

And that's kind of nice too.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I have no idea how people got on with typewriters. I've re-written this thing enough times to have lost track as to who said what and when. I'm reasonably happy with this chapter but if you spot something strange, do point it out.

In more interesting news, there is at least one line in this chapter that more or less gives you the key to the original wish that set this all off. There are probably others, but they're less interesting.

In other news, I'm starting to suspect that my PM thingy isn't working so I'm going to start addressing issues here.

_Sayaka's 'freak' comment_: I re-watched episode one (which has so much blatant foreshadowing it's actually kind of heartbreaking – Sayaka shipped Homura and Madoka together in a throwaway line) and I admit it feels more than a little awkward in that light. However, I hold to my characterization that Sayaka dislikes Homura (or is protective of Madoka) to the point where she'll say things she doesn't truly mean. Also, inventing an OC for that one purpose is kind of awkward. Yes, mark of an amateur, sorry, super-limited pool of characters to draw from and all that.

_Fatal Family Insomnia: _This is a real disease and is currently without cure. I highly doubt it could be cured in the way I've hinted at but it's theoretically possible that a cure could involve some very specialized hormone treatment that goes at the problem sideways but requires constant supplements and thus costs an exorbitant amount that must constantly be paid.

_Christian symbolism_: I am not myself Christian. I've tried, however, to use any mentions of the religion relevantly and without making any of it overly trite or cliché. If any of you _were_ offended, I apologize and beg that you mention how I could improve the scenes; I'm always a little leery about writing what I don't know. Kyouko isn't exactly religious but she still prays for her sister and _might_ be a little more open-minded about certain subjects for reasons that go beyond just religion.


End file.
